


Ashes.

by PrismaticDelight



Category: Original Work, The Amberwood Series
Genre: Gen, I had like two other versions of her oneshot but this is the best one, It isn't graphic, Vampires, World War I, doesn't have much significance, just in case, nothing serious but I tagged for teens anyway, there's a bit of blood, this is pretty darn tame, while it's set during world war 1....it's a small detail, yeah I was inspired and had to do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22464580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrismaticDelight/pseuds/PrismaticDelight
Summary: This is a simple Ileana oneshot! Of course she's experience World Wars, come on now. NOW, this isn't meant to glorify what happened in any way. Like the tags say, it doesn't have "too" much significance in how this plays out, it's mostly for Ileana fighting invading Germans. I doubt I need to say this but I also have nothing against Germans in real life. Not that there's any slurs which could hint at that but just putting it out there!
Kudos: 1





	Ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! This was fun and I had a lot more I wanted to do but it would make this too long for my liking. I wrote almost all of it last night before I was like "hm, i should probably go to bed".

Buried deep beneath mountains of rubble comes a sharp inhale so intense, it stabbed Ileana’s lungs. Dry coughs follow quickly behind, leaving her to wheeze as her body struggles to force out dirt and dust and who know what else. The ground rumbles—shivers, more like. A tremor. One felt more intense than the previous which was so like, it might as well have been a twitching muscle.

Muscle…

Her coughs finally cease. Not that it matters. She feels twice as breathless as she did when waking up. Ileana strains her neck just to lift her head. Her eyes adjust in a heartbeat. She wishes they didn’t at all. The Vampire’s legs are pinned— _crushed_ —under heaps of concrete and stone so heavy, she doesn’t think she could push it off her. More rubble stands precariously perched like a pyramid over the upper half of her body, barely enough space to call it comfortable.

She isn’t sure if the crushed legs are worse… or the mangled iron bar protruding from her left hip is. It might as well be modern art. Not to mention the dozens of cuts and bruises littering her body. Her mouth is dry. She’s lost too much blood. If a human came by, the hunger would be too intense, even for Ileana.

“Fuck me…” Ileana huffs, running a hand over her face. Apparently, her nose was bleeding. The blood on her upper lip is dry, crusty. This isn’t the best situation to be in, far from it. What was she doing before this? How long has she been unconscious? Where is she anyway? None of the answers grant her anything. Because those aren’t the right questions.

The woman gives herself a moment to breathe, thankful she can’t feel the horrendous pain a human might right now. Assuming her body wouldn’t already be in shock. Numbness is a blessing. Her slender hands of sliced up skin and broken nails place themselves firmly on the perched rocks above her head. Her legs are already trapped. She can fix that.

But a crushed skull? Yeah, right. She isn’t a god. _Keep a steady breath. Count._ Ileana pushes as she exhales. Then she inhales. _One._ And pushes; exhales. Inhale. _Two._ Push and exhale. Bits of cement and dirt rain as the edges grind. The sound is no better than nails on a chalkboard. Inhale again. _Three._ She pushes harder with her breath hissing through her teeth. Muscles forced into action. The rubble rains again, but there’s a break.

A strip of light.

Inhale. _Four._ Resistance comes from either side. A silent challenge. What a way to die this would be; starvation. The strip of light becomes a band as wide as a ruler.

Inhale. _Five._ That damned number. _Make it count. Don’t break the limit._ Teeth grind hard enough they could shatter, only this time, it draws a guttural cry out with her final push. Despite the awkward position, rooted to the ground by iron, the rubble cracks beneath her hands until it splits and collapses.

Instantly, Ileana shields her eyes from the light of day. It’s too bright. Too warm.

She counts the seconds it takes for the feeling of light to not crawl at her skin like burrowing bugs. Her body adjusts to the warmth, so it doesn’t feel so intense. It’s only then that she drops her hand to look at her hip.

Now how in the fuck is she supposed to deal with that?

Ileana’s bright gold eyes practically burn holes into it as it traces over the pattern. How was it bent in such a way? It looks like the letter “P”. Was it intentional? Well, it wouldn’t be the first someone has tried to kill her, not much she can do about that. What concerned her more was that someone actually got the upper-hand.

She takes hold of it. One hand on the straight edge, the other on the curve. She has to unbend it. Maybe she’ll break it. Either way, yanking herself up off of it isn’t the way to go. Interestingly, Ileana’s heart beats a little faster, a little louder. So noisy. Such a _human_ response.

“Okay, I can do this,” Ileana murmurs to herself, “I can definitely do this. I’ve pulled out bullets, I can do this.”

Except, as soon she pulled the bend to straighten in, such intense pain whooshes over her. A pain so intense, the throb could be stabs from phantom knives. She bites on her lip with enough force to draw blood.

Ah, her fangs are extended. That would do it. Her own blood is hardly worth savoring.

Ileana curses under her breath, adjusting her hands. Now her breathing has increased its pace. She tries to pull again just a little harder for a few seconds longer. The action itself draws out a voice-cracking scream. Somehow, the pain was worse that time.

She snaps upright to sit the best she could, pulling harder, the iron starting to give in to her strength as she screamed again.

Her ears pick up on a sound. Beyond the gunfire or falling bombs. Footsteps. They were footsteps. Ileana drops herself down to recline, pressing as deep as she could in the pit of rubble. The walls of it must be about a foot tall, it should be enough to hide her.

Two sets of footsteps. Male voices. Their language is German, although she doesn’t quite understand it. She’s learned it and was once fluent in it… But never held interest in keeping up on it. Maybe she should have.

Ileana holds her breath. Her hands clench around the iron so tight, it bends under her fingers. The voices fade, but one set of footsteps stop. The men exchange a few words. Vampires aren’t a secret to the world. But she is no condition to fend for her life. Doesn’t mean she won’t try if the opportunity presents itself.

Now, the footsteps, both of them, draw near. Their voices are clearer. She can almost understand them. Why are they coming over? Are they not human—can they smell her? Will she be given mercy and killed…?

They’re too close. Too loud, so loud. Loud enough to drown out the sound of her rushing blood and drumming heart. This is happening, isn’t it? Ileana has trained in various styles of combat over the years, sure. She knows a bit of magick. But that takes thought. That takes calculations. She has no time for that. No, she knows what this is now.

She knows where she is. She knows what can and will happen to her. She knows death is inevitable if she doesn’t give in.

Yes… give in. Just like he said all those years ago. Those instincts, the primal rage gifted to her from her life as a human. Channel it just as the Werewolves do. Just as the Dragons once did. Do not grant mercy. Do not show kindness.

Show them those teeth. The bloodlust. Oh, their blood… it smells divine. She imagines the sweetness of it all. She could do it. She could drain every drop from their bodies. Turn them to ash, so their fellow soldiers cannot find them. So they cannot be brought back to their families.

Ileana slowly closes her eyes just as the footsteps reach the edge. They breathe so loudly. Surely, they’re not out of shape. It must be from inhaling so much crap in the air. Exhaustion. The two men speak, one voice is a tad further away, likely standing back.

One drops at her right side. He touches her lax hands on her stomach. The touch burns like frostbite. That'll fix itself the moment she gets a drop of blood.

They say something to one another before the man shifts. He touches her face, turning it side to side. What is he looking for…? He touches her neck, feeling for a pulse.

Idiot. He can’t find one. She’s lived for over two-thousand years, she’s learned to stop her own heart. That took some time to master, but it’s worth it.

As though disappointed, he sucks his teeth. Ileana can imagine a thousand reasons why he would be. That’s alright, it only fuels her. She waits until she hears him trying to pull himself out. Until his back is to her. The blood may taste terrible for all she knows.

But then again… it doesn’t matter here.

Ileana opens her eyes, seeing the man’s profile as he’s helped by his comrade. She can see his veins. The flexing of his muscles. The flimsy design of his skeleton. His bones could snap like twigs.

And she wants to shatter them.

Lunging upright, Ileana grabs onto one of his legs, either will do, and mercilessly shreds her teeth into his pant leg, straight to the flesh. The man screams bloody murder as she drags, making sure to tear him open right to that pretty white bone.

His comrade shrieks and staggers backwards. The man kicks his injured leg uselessly while clawing his way out. His blood isn’t terrible. It’ll do for now.

She wraps her fingers around that leg and jerks back, forcing him down into her hole. He falls like dead weight scrambling for something, anything he can use. He doesn’t have a weapon on him… interesting.

Ileana grabs his collar before he can so much as blink. One hand forces his head aside hard enough to snap his neck. Luckily, she doesn't, because there’s no fun in that. Her teeth gouge into the thin skin of his neck. She wants to feel like knives. A thousand needles. She wants to feel like fire burning him alive.

She hasn’t a clue what the German is yelling as she sucks in large gulps of that sweet blood. He tries to swing at her. He pulled a knife from somewhere on his person. Ileana grabs his wrist, yanking back. Blood pours down his front and into the free hand desperately trying to stop the bleeding. She quietly chuckles. Holding his knife back is child’s play. A twitch of her finger could snap the bone.

Which is exactly what she does.

The man only screams louder, the knife dropped into her grasp. Ileana snarls before she uses his own knife to thrust it into his left eye. Now there’s a scream she’s never heard before. He falls over beside her with blood sputtering out of his mouth.

She just shrugs. Now having consumed a bit of blood, freeing her legs is like throwing aside a pillow. They heal in the time in takes the man to choke on his blood, a few minutes as a loose estimate. Every bone snaps back into place, her hands having to massage the flesh here and there.

Good as new.

It’s then that she hears the click of a gun. It seems someone is ready to fire at her. She looks to her right. A group of German uniformed men stand with pointed guns aimed somewhere at her. One man gives some command. Probably telling her to get up.

They know what she is, or at least, that she isn’t human.

Ileana holds up a finger to tell them to wait as she unbends the iron in her hip. The pain never comes now. It makes her smile. They inch backwards as she climbs out, watching with wide eyes behind their guns. They most certainly know.

“ **What are you?** ” The far-left German asks in his language. Interesting. Her knowledge must be coming back to her.

“ **A human.** ” Ileana answers as if she weren’t staring down a barrel when addressing him.

“ **Fucking liar, look what you did to my brother!** ” His chin jerks past her, to the dead body laying in the pit. She glances behind to play innocent, then shrugs.

“ **It’s no different from what you’re doing.** ”

“ **We’re fighting for a reason, a cause.** ” Replies a German at his immediate side. His aim is shaky. She sees the bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

Ileana cocks her head to the side, “ **Are you going to shoot me**?”

They look to each other. She assumes they haven’t exactly thought this through. “ **Yeah—yeah we are. Eye for an Eye, you know how it goes.** ” One of them finally says. The man in the middle right in front of her. He fixes his stance and raises his gun a little higher at her heart.

“ **Indeed, I do. I’ve lived for over two-thousand years, I’ve seen my fair share.** ” The woman sighs. It makes them tense. “ **But, of course, it means I’ve had plenty of practice. How much practice have you all had with a gun?** ”

“ **Enough to kill you,** ” The far-left German hisses as his gun also aims at her heart.

“ **So, then you’ll have no trouble shooting a moving target, correct?** ” At her question, the German’s faces crease and wrinkle in question. When they look away from her again, she throws herself at them.

Yes, just like he said. Give into the lust, the anger, the greed. React on instinct, never reconsider.

Latched on like a spider, Ileana rips the gun from his hand as she tears her teeth into his neck. His screams are pitiful, and his gun snapped into two. The others try to help by taking aim. Their fingers about to pull the trigger.

The man she drinks from collapses just as she hurls the bayonet at one man. The sound he made almost amused her. The others fire, but she doesn’t so much as blink.

Because they never reach her.

The scattered bullets were set to riddle holes into her body. Instead, they sit uselessly in the air within arm’s reach. Ileana rips her head up, not bothering to wipe away the blood trickling down her chin and neck.

Magick is much easier when feeding.

The remaining men, she counts five, inch backwards but keep their guns raised while she rises onto her feet.

It’s not enough. She needs more. She wants more. It’s not enough.

With a flick of her wrist, she sends the bullets flying back from which they came. Through each man’s shoulder. The force strong enough to knock them down onto their backs. The bullet lengths in seconds and blooms like vines stretching over their bodies, pinning them into the rubble.

“ **Oh god—please! Please, show us mercy! We won’t tell a soul about you!** ” Why do they always beg?

“ **Mercy? Like you would give me?** ” The Vampire howls a laugh, kicking the body into the pit when she stands. “ **You’re a funny man,** ” Her golden eyes burn like embers of a fire, and the men scream only louder, writhing. Ileana watches, bored.

Whatever this area is, it’s too open. She doesn’t want to any interruptions.

Her arms extend from her sides, palms raising to the sky. Enormous chunks of rubble rise from the ground, stacking, rebuilding, until they’re enclosed by four walls and a ceiling that blocks out the light. The darkness seems to have made one man blubber.

The smell of their blood is stronger now. Their veins practically glow in her vision. They’re begging for her attention. Their whimpers and muffled pleas ring in her ears, their labored breaths sound as though they’re breathing down her neck.

The darkness is truly her friend.

In the darkness, she can show “mercy”. In the darkness, she can hunt, she can thrive.

Ileana can consume.

 _Devour_.

And she will not let a single drop of blood go to waste.


End file.
